Their Cries

Author’s Note: This is another response to, All Quiet on the Western Front. I loved the scene of the horses and I wanted to capture the feeling of them in misery and pain, but I liked the monotonously quote on page 74 for my mimic line.

I can hear them- their cries. The cries are unbearable, indescribable. The moaning, the grieving, and the pain screeches in my ears. My eyes have not yet set upon the source of these cries, but hearing the cries is excruciating let alone watching it in pain. I push back the branches to see a field- black clouds hover over the field, smoke fills the lungs from the fire burning. My eyes set upon a picture I wished to never see- horses. Their neighs are louder than ever. They scream for help, they scream for relief. There is no help for them. The only help is death to put them out of their misery. Water fills my eyes for I know there is no hope for them. Endlessly the horses cry, endlessly misery fills the sky, endlessly the souls die.

Mimic line:

“Monotonously the lorries sway, monotonously come the calls, monotonously falls the rain.” (74)

Childhood Memory

Author's Note: In the novel, All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque, it demonstrates the main theme of childhood and that it is something that nobody can escape. It stick with you your whole life. Everybody wishes to be back at your childhood because of all the happy memories it had. In this response, I wanted to capture that childhood memory. There wasn't a specific quote that inspired me, it was the first three chapters of the novel that inspired me to write this response.

The smell of fresh air happily fills the lungs. The sound of chirping birds brings music to the ears. The warmth of the sun brings sleep upon the eyes. It feels so good. The grass, perfectly green, tickles the skin as the body lies peacefully on the earth. Rolling along the smooth ground brings happiness to the emotions. Standing up, there is a slight breeze; it’s perfect- not too hard and not too cold. The breeze scatters the innocent yet beautiful butterflies that float peacefully through the wind. Chasing them was the best part. If luck was present, one would be in my hands. There is nothing like a childhood memory.

Beauty (WR#1)

The author of All Quiet on the Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque, really demonstrates the brutality of war with beautiful syntax. Page nine says, "Around us stretches the flowery meadow. The grasses sway their tall spears; the white butterflies flutter around and float on the soft warm wind of the late summer." The structure of syntax and the beauty of writing reminded me of Golding's writing style in Lord of the Flies. To take something so harmful, brutal, disgusting, etc. and make it sound pretty and comforting adds a huge effect on the reader. The feeling of comfort in such a terrible situation, makes it feel like this terrible situation is a good thing, even though it may not be.

Children at Heart (WR#2)

            Going through high school, then college, and eventually having a career, we all look back on our childhood and wish to relive those moments. As children, all attention was surrounded around us and the sky was the limit. Our true personalities sprouted. Growing and developing physically and mentally, the sense of freedom slowly slips through our fingers like butter. As adults our mentality becomes mature along with responsibility. Although, every once and a while there is that spark; that spark of childhood memories; memories that makes us feel warm, happy, and ourselves. That spark is our true personality. In the novel, All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque, the author demonstrates through imagery that even though we grow and mature mentally and physically, even though we desire to become adults, even though we grow old, we are all still a child at heart.

            Remarque demonstrates through the characters that even at war, men still have the childish personality stored in their hearts. Paul, a young soldier, comforts Kemmerich, one of Paul’s comrades, because of a small wound causing him to have an amputated leg. They both know that Kemmerich is on the border line of death, but before his life disappears he gave his boots to Paul. The generous guy he is, he then gave them to Müller, another comrade of Paul, because he desired them. They both eventually put them on and saw themselves as adults. Remarque uses the boots as an imagery of adulthood. Paul felt, “But when we go bathing and strip, suddenly we have slender legs again and slight shoulders. We are no longer soldiers but little more than boys; no one would believe that we could carry packs” (29). Remarque handles the boots as imagery toward adulthood. Putting on the boots made Paul and Müller feel like men. All sense of childhood disappeared. When the boots and everything else that covered them came off, the characters true self appears. The slender legs and slight shoulders is who they truly are. They have the skinny body of a child, with the mentality of a man.

Evil Takes Over

Author's Note: I wanted to write about how man has a dark side. Instead of writing a response or a poem I decided to do something creative. I decided to write about evil and how it lives inside, but at the same time spell out the word good. The effect for that was to capture how evil takes over the good. When the reader looking at this post, they will be so focused on what the writing says than the word "GOOD" spelled in the background. Now when you read this you will see the word "Good" in the background because I told you.  Now the difficult part is how to read this. You first start with the letter "G". Read it left to write and top to bottom, then move on to the next letter. The paragraph will be at the bottom of this post in case you get confused. The letter are all mixed up. On word it worked bout pretty good.

Evil Takes Over

It creeps up on you       It is something that          and becomes our        and it causes the

It tries to take over         desires to escape             true personality.         the mind to cringe.

Evil,                              and                   it is       The                   evil       Every               single

Satan,                           some-              thing      is in                us. No    person               in this

dark,                             that                  takes     doubt              about     in this                    world

rough,                           over                  the        it. The               dark      has a                      dark

grody,    bad, amiss      mind.                The       side                  of us    side,                       and

awry,             wrong,    dark                 side       eats               us alive.   it is                      hard

whatever you want         living inside us slowly,   Just thinking about is     trying to comprehend

to call it, it lives inside.  but surely seeps out      sends chills down the    and grasp that idea.

The above writing:

It creeps up on you, it tries to take over. Evil, Satan, dark, rough, grody, bad, amiss, awry, wrong, whatever you want to call it, it lives inside. It is something that desire to escape and it is something that takes over the mind. The dark side living inside us slowly, but surely seeps out and it becomes our true personality. The evil is in us. No doubt about it. The dark side eats us alive. Just thinking about it sends chills down the back and it causes the mind to cringe. Every single person in this world has a dark side and it is hard trying to comprehend and grasp that idea.

                

The Box

Author's Note: This was another response to Jekyll and Hyde. The one element that really stood out to me was curiosity. Everybody has curiosity and we, humans, would often do anything to know. Sometimes not knowing something eats us alive. We crave knowledge. I also liked the idea of human's having to sides and with the consciences it shows that both good and evil side of man. This is the quote that inspired me to write about 'The Box'.: "...so that to my interest in the man's nature and character, there was added a curiosity as to his origin, his life, his fortune and status in the world." 

The Box

I stepped into a room. I saw a man; he had ripped clothes-too big for him- a black beard that smothered his face, and a stench- I would rather smell a dead body. His back was hunched and he limped as his weak body exited the room. He stopped right next to me. His head turned slowly and jerky like rust lied on his neck trying to break free. His cold, dark eyes glared into mine. Bitter and cold, chills ran down my spine. For that moment, there was no hope, no sense of purity, and no sense of benevolence in the room. He spoke. With his cold scratchy voice, he said, “Whatever you do, do not open the box.” As he left, I could feel the evilness disappear. I looked across the room to see a dim light hovering over a small brown box.

            I raised my eyebrow in confusion. What was in that box that was so important to that man? I walked slyly across the room toward the package. I heard a voice. I stopped in fear; pure horror ran through my body. “Don’t do it” one voice said. “Do it, open the box,” another voice replied. I looked to my right to find "me" on my right shoulder. She was dressed in a beautiful white dress. Her hair, makeup- everything was perfect. She said, “Don’t open the box. The man said not to. You would feel guilty if you did.” I nodded in consideration and agreement. I looked to my left to find me again. This time it was the total opposite. She was wearing black everything. Her hair, makeup- everything was imperfect. “Do it. What’s the harm? It’s just a box. Don’t you want to know what’s in it?” My hands were rubbing together in desperation. I started to lick my lips; I was desperate to know what was inside. My right shoulder self said, “Don’t do it. You know it’s wrong!” My left shoulder self said, “Do it. You know you want to.” My head moving back and forth made my head spin.

My right shoulder self said, “Don’t!”

My left shoulder self said, “Do it!

“Don’t!”

“Do it!”

“Don’t!”

“Do it!”

            Every second I spent looking at the box, I got closer to opening it. My curiosity was exceeding. I said aloud, “ENOUGH! I will make the decision myself.” Silence filled the room. My conscious disappeared. I was on my own. Thinking back and forth between should I do it or should I not, I find myself approaching closer and closer to the box. I closed my eyes hoping that this situation was all a dream. I opened them. The box was standing right before me. My hand reached for the lid. I hesitated. I reached for it again in reassurance. I could not do it. I backed away. The thoughts reappeared back into my mind- all the possibilities of what could be inside. I could not take it anymore; I needed to know what was inside. I craved the knowledge; I would do anything to know. Just out of instinct I opened the box. O, how I regretted it.

           

Cannot Bear Evil

Author's Note: This was another response to Jekyll and Hyde. The main point of the story is that everybody has a dark side. I wanted to go off a little bit on that idea. I wrote about how there is evil inside all of us, but the mind does not want to believe it. It puts us in denial and sometimes knowing evil is inside of us, is too much.

Cannot Bear Evil

            Evil within the soul exists. That simple sentence disturbs the mind, sends a screech through the ears. A sentence the mind refuses to fathom; fathoming the concept is too much to bear. The sentence sends a qualm feeling through the body. Visualizing the evil side of the human personality puts the mind into denial. The same situation applies to Dr. Jekyll in the novel, Mr. Hyde and Dr. Jekyll. Dr. Jekyll encounters the evil Mr. Hyde, and cannot fathom the hideous personality that he possesses.

            In the midst of the mysterious case between Mr. Hyde and Dr. Jekyll, Dr. Jekyll is overwhelmed by hideous personality that Mr. Hyde has. The criminal that has been wondering about the streets, Dr. Jekyll has seen. The ugliness of his appearance and the evil in his personality sends Dr. Jekyll into shock mode. He cannot bear the sight of Mr. Hyde. He says, “…I will never set eyes on him again. I bind my honour to you that I am done with him in this world. It is all at an end” (52). Mr. Hyde contains evil inside him. His appearance and personality is so hideous, it is too much to bear for the innocent. His personality is unfathomable. Society shapes our mind that good is all we see. For Dr. Jekyll to see pure evil gives him nightmares. Evil within the soul exists; we cannot bear evil.

Looking Into the Mirror

Author’s Note:

This poem is response to the novel, Jekyll and Hyde. Jekyll and Hyde demonstrates that every man, whether they realize it or not, has an evil side to them. Some people may not even know that they have a dark side because it is too much to comprehend. This poem demonstrates that concept. A girl looks into the mirror and sees a normal human being or her “good” side. When she takes a second look she’s sees her “dark” side.

Looking Into the Mirror

Looking into the mirror:

She saw a reflection

She saw perfection

Looking into the mirror:

She saw a human

She saw a personality bloomin’

Looking into the mirror:

She saw diligence

She saw innocence

She took a second look:

Looking into the mirror:

She saw a mutation

She saw an ugly creation

Looking into the mirror:

She saw a monster

She saw a haunter

Looking into the mirror:

She saw a beast

She saw a creep 

Looking into the mirror:

She saw darkness

She saw savageness

Looking into the mirror:

She saw a figure of evil

She saw a figure of hatred

She saw a figure of pain…

She saw herself

 

Inspired quotes:
"...and then the door of that room would be opened, the curtains of the bed plucked apart, the sleeper recalled, and lo! there would stand by his side a figure to whom power was given, and even at that dead hour, he must rise and do its bidding. The figure in these two phases haunted the lawyer all night; and if at any time he dozed over, it was but to see it glide more stealthily through sleeping houses, or move the more swiftly and still the more swiftly, even to dizziness, through wider labyrinths of lamp-lighted city, and at every street corner crush a child and leave her screaming." (48)

“At least it would be a face worth seeing: the face of a man who was without bowels of mercy: a face which had but to show itself to raise up, in the mind of the unimpressionable Enfield, a spirit of enduring hatred.” (49)

The Angel's Pain

Author's Note: This was a creative writing piece assigned for my English class. This is a creative short story that I wrote along with three mimic lines from other short stories that I have read. I also incorporated a defense mechanism. This is a very dark story. This type of story isn't really me because I am usually a happy person with optimistic thoughts (most of the time) and to write a dark depressing piece was shocking to me. I liked writing this piece.

          
          The sound more than startled me, it shook my entire being. I started to gain consciousness. The ashes lying on my eyelashes scattered and floated gently in the breeze as my eyelids slowly and painfully opened. My vision was blurry; I blinked slowly several times to wipe them clean of filth. I found myself lying on the ground face up and all I could see were black clouds. The clouds covered the entire sky and only shadows of grey were visible. It looked like; no… it felt like angels of darkness floating over the sky, taking control of the situation around me. What was that smell? A better question was where was I?  I thought the smell was the dark angel’s odor; the odor of mass destruction and the loss of innocent lives burned my nose and my eyes, flaming in pain, felt like claws sinking into them, ripping out my cornea. It was smoke—dark, black, and nasty. Oh, my head was pounding like a bass drum. The pain was excruciating; it felt like a water balloon ready to explode. I looked to my right and trucks were toppled over, buildings on fire, and men in camouflage clothing running frantically for cover as if the angel of death was chasing after them. I removed my hand from my head and set it down in confusion; it landed on a machine gun. Where am I? It finally dawned on me; my purpose, my mission here at war.

             I started to stand up, but my leg… it hurt; I could not get up. I grabbed my gun and I saw a man running toward me, screaming something. I could not quite understand what he was saying, the surrounding area—with all the gunfire and bombs— it was complete and total chaos. He finally reached me and grabbed my arm and placed it around his neck. He started lifting me. I felt like jello, I could barely keep my head up. He sat me down behind a pile of sand bags or something of that sort. I looked at the man mysteriously, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, trying to solve the rubics cube of who he was. The dust of earth and blood of man grew over his face. He grabbed my hand and stared into mine with anger, yet compassion and relief peeked through his pupils. He screamed at me trying to get his soft voice to be heard over the entire ruckus, “This time FOLLOW these orders and STAY HERE! You were almost killed out there, since you didn’t do what you were supposed to! Now stay here and don’t do anything else…. before you get yourself killed.” I remember the incident. The guilt surged through by body; it suddenly became heavy. The man gave me one last look and somehow whispered over the gunshots, “I am just glad you are safe, Angel.” Angel? No one ever calls me that! I could only recall one person. That one person was my best friend. He was always there for me; whenever depression swept over me, whenever the hardest decisions came upon me. Yes, that sounds cheesy, but it is the truth. As he said my name, I instantly recognized his personality. All I could say was “Ok…..Dad.”

Dad grabbed his gun and ran around the sandbag wall and he waved his hand to call the men to move forward. Seeing him run through the battlefield made my heart condense and wilt, like seeing him again was soon to be extinct. Usually, it is the father that has a hard time letting go of his little daughter, but his time it was me. My head told me to stay and be safe, but my heart said go with him. “BOOM” My heart echoed the noise of the bomb. Suddenly, a screech-like scream surged through my ears—a scream of pain, a scream of torture, a scream of death. My eyes peaked over the sack of bags to see men lying everywhere in different shapes and forms, only to find my dad lying there with blood pouring from his face, his hands and his feet. Without any hesitation, I sprinted over to him. Yes, I just exposed myself to certain death being in the middle of the battlefield, but daddy was hurt, he needed help. As I examined his body, I knew his “booboo” could not be healed with a little kiss; it is going to take a lot more than that. Greatly through pain, now, his veins have greatly been through torture. He gestured for me to come closer. My ear was to his mouth. With every last breath he said, “Angel, I am… sorry for… everything. Finish…. the job. I lo…” Lightning struck below the dark clouds. My mind was blank. My heart was torn. My soul was incomplete. The happiness of my soul was too weak to be exposed. Faster than I could say “Jiminy Crickets”, a man dragged me away, where only one wing was left flying.  

            I woke up, staring at a gray, cement ceiling. I started to cry. The memory of yesterday’s tragedy, hit me like a gun shot. Of my actions, the incident has tortured- has disintegrated- has beaten me. The death of my father… just thinking about the nightmare, made me shrivel and burn into ashes. My father’s death was hard to grasp, but the cause of this tragic tragedy was spilt on my hands. It is my fault. The pain, guilt and emptiness in my soul inhaled every last bit of happiness, leaving me with nothing. I could not take it anymore; the pain was eating me alive. I glanced around the room frantically, looking for any escape. My eyes came upon knife. That knife was looking more and more satisfying by the second. I grabbed it with hesitation. Just before the knife pierced through my heart, the door opened and John, my best friend, knocked the knife out of my hand. He yelled, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” All I could do was cry, and he dragged me out to the hallway.

It was dark, cold and it smelled funky. His soft voice comforted me, but yet it was firm and filled with concern, “What’s wrong? Tell me everything, the full on truth.” I hesitated, wondering if telling him was the right choice. Guilt shot through by body, “It’s about my father,” the room was silent; only a faint sound of the cold air flowing through was heard. A tear trickled down my face; it landed on the cold ground, which was the loudest noise. I continued, “His death was my fault. If I hadn’t just followed the orders like a good soldier he would be alive.” I started to bawl. John replied, “It’s not your fault!” I screamed, “Yes it is! Because of me and my stupidity, he’s dead.” John gave me a, you are unbelievable glare. He said, “I will say this again, it was not your fault! Now let me tell you this. Your father was a great man. He changed the course of this war. It was not your fault. What happens happens. Nature took its course…. Everybody makes mistakes. It is not your fault.” I was then capable of holding my tears back. Yeah, he’s right it is not my fault. Nature took its course. Relax…. but because of me and my stupidity he is gone. I replied, “But if I would have just followed orders…” John interrupted, “Stop denying the fact that it wasn’t you’re your fault. Your dad died a noble man, now you have to let that spirit live with him.” I started to tense. Looking down to the floor, I noticed a strangely shaped shadow. It was looking me straight into the eye and a grin was smothered throughout the shadow. Then the thought of the satisfying knife came upon my mind again.

-       The glee of my heart was too strong to be restrained.

-       In their consequences, these events have terrified- have tortured- have destroyed me.

-       Here at least, than, my labor has not been in vain.